


Over The Fields We Go

by eyeus



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Explicit Language, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Rickyl Writers' Group, Rickyl Writers' Group December 2015 Challenge, Romance, Sleigh Ride AU, Winter Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5442002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeus/pseuds/eyeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is one of the couples-only runs,” says the driver of the sleigh. He throws Rick a discerning glare. “Single riders have to wait for the next run.”</p><p>Rick sucks in a breath and slips his arm through Daryl’s, even if they’ve only just met. “That won’t be necessary,” he says. “We’re…together.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bells On Bobtails Ring

**Author's Note:**

> Sleigh Ride AU. Written for the Rickyl Writers’ Group December 2015 Challenge: Winter Romance. Inspired by this picture of sleigh rides [here](http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y283/slamduncan21/stuff%20to%20ul%20to%20sites/Sleigh-Rides-3.jpg~original).

~

_I’m feeling a little under the weather_ , the text from Lori says. _Can we reschedule? :)_

Rick had gotten the text first thing this morning, apparently. _Sure_ , he types back with a sigh. It wasn’t like he had to book what he’d planned for today a week in advance. 

Not in the least. 

_How’s next Thursday?_ Rick adds. He could move a few things around in his schedule, if he had to.

 _I’ll have to get back to you on that_ , Lori writes back. _But thanks for understanding!_

Rick had reconnected with her at the ten-year high school reunion not long ago, where they’d served lukewarm hors d'oeuvres and cheap wine, without even a mention of there being dinner. But then, Rick had gone for the people and ambience, rather than the food. 

It’d been worth it too, because Lori—he remembered her from the days he’d sat at the back of the class, watching her turn and talk to her friends, her eyes doe-brown and wide, her smile warm—had been there too.

One drink had led to another, and liquid courage paved the way for Rick to finally ask, _If you’re free next Saturday, why don’t we go out for a coffee?_

He’d left the reunion with a firm yes, her phone number in his pocket, and the sense that maybe things were finally coming together in his life. Rick had immediately made a booking the next day for a quiet, country sleigh ride just outside of town, and drawn up plans for which coffeehouse to take Lori to after, because if he was going to court this girl, he was going to do it right.

Except of course, everything seemed to be conspiring against him today. The snow that’d been drifting down all night had turned into a heavier run of snowfall, his alarm clock hadn’t gone off because the electricity had shorted sometime in the morning, and now, this set of texts.

 _Well_. Rick glances at his watch. It’s one in the afternoon, and the session he’d signed them up for is coming up in an hour, so he throws on a sweater and a coat, hitting the remote start on his car keys. 

_Already paid money for the booking_ , he decides.

 _Might as well enjoy it_.

~

The drive out to the site where Rick’s booked the sleigh ride isn’t too bad, considering the light snow that’s been coming down all night, and the only recent turn in the snowfall. There’s plenty of parking, which is always a blessing, and as he makes his way up to the lodge where riders have to wait, Rick nods at all the other people who’ve signed up to enjoy the ride, just like him.

To the north, there’s a small mountain range, the base of which is lined with trees, and to the south, a few homey wooden cabins dot the landscape. Besides those, however, it’s snow and crystal brightness as far as the eye can see, making these mountain meadows seem wilder and more remote than they actually are.

Rick takes a seat on a plush red couch, one that’s thankfully free of other people, and settles in to wait. Has a sip of the hot chocolate they’ve set out in the refreshments area. It’s really just hot water mixed with powdered cocoa, but it’s hot and he’s still freezing from the cold, so Rick will take this small comfort as it is. 

A few other people shuffle in as it nears two o’ clock, stamping their feet on the welcome mat to shake snow loose from their boots. One of them tosses himself into the same couch Rick’s sitting on, and punches at the keys of his phone, irritated.

“Yeah,” says the man, plucking a set of sunglasses from his head, as he holds the phone up to his ear. “I’m here now. You gonna join me or what?” He pauses, as if he’s listening to the reply. “Don’t know what I expected,” he growls, when it seems like he’s got his answer. “See you when I get back.” He lifts the sleeve of his jacket to check the time, then ends the call with a pointed jab of a button.

“You’re here alone?” Rick asks, when the man jams his hands back into his pockets. 

“Yeah,” says the man, narrowing his eyes. It’s really a shame, Rick thinks, because they’re the prettiest shade of crystalline blue he’s ever seen. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’, I’m just…” Rick blinks. “I’m here alone too.” 

“Oh.” The man’s shoulders relax just the tiniest bit, as he fiddles with the phone in his pocket. “Yeah, that’s…yeah. Rough.” He tries to look properly apologetic, but maybe his face isn’t used to the sentiment, because the look he manages instead says, _you just ate the last cookie in the cookie jar, how_ could _you?_

Rick bites back the laugh that’s threatening to bubble out, that the man’s expressions don’t quite match what he means. “Girlfriend bailed on you?” he guesses, trying for conversation. 

_She doesn’t know what she’s missing_ , Rick decides. Because this man’s definitely easy on the eyes, with his long, oak-dark hair and a strong jaw that tapers into the smoothest column of throat Rick’s ever seen. If Rick was ten years younger, he might’ve indulged in—but _that’d_ been inexperienced fumbling, in locker rooms and beneath bleachers, and he’s long past those days now.

Besides, he knows his parents are hoping for him to meet a _good girl_ , and everything about this man screams the opposite of that, from his leather jacket and layers of plaid shirts that have seen better days, to torn jeans with chains wrapped just above the cuff. The faint of smell of motor oil as he lets himself sprawl out on the couch, just a little closer to Rick, suggests that he even rides a motorcycle, and that’s about as _bad_ as you can get.

Rick sighs. Maybe he can’t partake, but he can certainly let himself appreciate.

“Nah, my brother,” answers the man, shrugging. “Hell of a bender last night. And a little too much ho ho ho’in’, if you know what I mean.” He snorts. “He ain’t gettin’ on no sleighs anytime soon. You?”

“Well,” Rick says, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to find a way to explain that doesn’t sound _too_ awkward. “I had a date with a girl. She texted this morning to tell me she was sick. Didn’t want to waste my ticket though, so...” He gestures at the cozy log cabin, the deer heads and plaques for hunting adorning the walls, and the jarring fuzzy red couches that make up the lodge they’re waiting in. “So here we are.”

“Here we are,” echoes the man, thoughtful. He works a hand free from his gloves, and reaches over with an offer to shake. “Daryl,” he says quietly, all the fight in him gone now, like he’s found a partner in misery.

Rick blinks, before remembering to take Daryl’s hand, which he does, his grip warm and firm. “I’m Rick,” he says, smiling.

He spends the rest of the waiting time just listening to Daryl talk, taking in the blues of his eyes and the low timbre of his voice, enjoying his words and nodding where it’s appropriate to. Shares a little more about the circumstances that brought him here when Daryl asks, and keeps silent when it’s his turn to listen.

Daryl’s telling Rick how he’d been trying to do something _nice_ for his brother, Merle—who’d been talking about going to rehab after getting out of the hospital, except to celebrate leaving the hospital, Merle had gotten boozed up, drugged up, and laid, possibly in that order—when the light jingling of bells sounds outside, signalling the arrival of their sleigh. 

“Guess it’s time,” Daryl says. “Might as well put our tickets to use.” He offers his ungloved hand to help Rick up, as the others around them check their watches and those with the proper ride time start moving outside.

“That’s what _I_ thought too,” laughs Rick. He takes Daryl’s hand to hoist himself up, and together, they make their way outside as well.

The sleigh’s a six-seater, with three sets of wooden slats for seating behind a raised platform for the driver, and two ash grey mares hitched to the front of it, bell-lined blankets and straps adorning their bodies. Rick climbs into the middle seat and Daryl into the back, while another two couples follow close behind.

The driver turns to give Rick a discerning look. “We got more comin’,” he says. He waves the couples over with a jerk of his hand. “If your girlfriend’s in the bathroom or somethin’, you’re gonna have to wait for the next run.”

“My _what_?” Ricks says, furrowing his brow. 

“Your girlfriend,” says the driver. “This is one of the couples-only runs. Singletons have to wait for the next run too,” he calls at Daryl.

 _Singletons_ , Rick hears Daryl mutter. _Surprised he knows such a big word_. “When’s the next one?” Daryl hollers, loud enough to split one of Rick’s eardrums. Maybe two. 

“That’ll be in an hour.”

Rick shifts uncomfortably in his seat. That’s another _hour_ of waiting back at the crowded lodge, drinking the god-awful sludge they call hot chocolate, and killing time playing games on his phone. He turns to share a look with Daryl, who’s just raised his eyebrows as if to say, _No way, José. Not another fuckin’ hour_.

“And if you miss _that_ one,” the driver continues, “you gotta wait for the family runs, with the kids.” He shudders at that, and Rick can only imagine what a shitstorm those ones must be.

“That won’t be necessary,” says Rick. He sucks in a breath and climbs down, before Daryl offers him a hand up to where he’s sitting. “We’re…we’re together.” 

With an apologetic glance, Rick slips his arm through Daryl’s, and even if Daryl stiffens against him slightly, he relaxes into Rick’s touch a fraction of a second later; they’ve _both_ got to make this convincing, if they don’t want to be kicked into the next hour of singleton runs, or god forbid, the horror of family runs.

The driver squints at them from beneath the wide brim of his cowboy hat. “You weren’t sittin’ together at the start,” he points out. 

“Yeah, we just...we had a fight, is all,” Rick says, ducking his head like he’s embarrassed, and he _is_ , but not for the reason the driver suspects. “We’re fine now.”

“Yeah,” says Daryl, putting on a grin that looks eerily unnatural, as if he’s not used to smiling. “We’re good now.” There’s a touch of pensiveness in his gaze as he looks at Rick. “We’re good.”

“Well, all right then.” The driver turns away, motioning for the other couples to get a move on. 

As the others climb on, Rick spares a moment to be relieved that they’re at the back. At least from here, they won’t have to pretend too much more to convince the driver of their couple status. And they’ve still got the camouflage of the couple in front of them, nattering away and giggling at nothing, a man and a woman in matching grey parkas with fur-lined hoods. The man’s of Asian descent, and Rick thought he’d caught a flash of auburn hair as the woman climbed in, but he can’t be sure. Either way, it was safe to say there were all kinds of couples on this ride.

Still, Rick can’t help but admit he’s sorry to let go of Daryl’s arm, when the sleigh starts moving. It’d been nice, pressed up against Daryl like that, and it was certainly warmer than when Rick had been sitting alone.

“Do you come up here often?” Rick asks, when the ride’s well under way. It’s a legitimate question; he’d seen Daryl rooting through the cupboards and grabbing snacks without batting an eye during their wait, like he knew where everything was. He’d even offered some to Rick, but Rick had politely declined, deciding the sleigh ride took precedence over eating possibly stolen goods.

Daryl blinks, like no one’s ever taken an honest interest in him before, beyond the usual niceties. “Come up here in the summer sometimes,” he says. “They got jobs for takin’ people out ridin’ on the trails.”

“Oh, so you ride too!” Rick grins a mile wide, because Daryl’s the only other person he’s met so far who can. Like horseriding was a dying skill, despite the number of ranches and farms that existed in Georgia. 

“Yeah.” Daryl pauses, and fidgets with his fingers, before tucking his thumb inside a fist. “Where’d _you_ learn?”

“Just a ranch, when I was kid,” says Rick. “Not much use for it in the job I have now, though.” At Daryl’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “Sheriff’s Deputy. A friend and I just transferred back into Atlanta about a month ago.”

Daryl’s mouth falls open at the revelation that Rick’s a cop. It might have more to do with the fact that he’d revealed earlier his brother was taking drugs, than utter awe at his profession, but Rick holds up a hand to pre-empt any excuses Daryl might offer for Merle. 

“I’m just out here to have a good time,” Rick says. “Not arrest people.” He offers Daryl his most encouraging smile and nudges their elbows together. “How about you, what do you do?”

It leads to an easier, less stilted conversation about how Daryl does repairs at his brother’s bike shop from time to time, and the current beauty he’s working on restoring, a midnight-blue Kawasaki from ‘82. 

They’ve moved onto talking about how in the hell they thought a sleigh ride in the middle of winter could’ve been a good idea, when a gust of what Rick swears is arctic wind blows by, and Rick has to curl into himself to keep warm.

“Just thought it’d be good to—what’s the matter with _you_?” Daryl asks, when he notices Rick huddling into a ball mid-conversation, shivering, his hands tightened into fists.

“I, uh,” Rick tries. “Was thinkin’ about things this mornin’. Kinda forgot my gloves on the kitchen counter before comin’ out.”

“You can borrow mine,” says Daryl. “I’m used to the cold, anyway.” He slips his gloves off his hands, and nudges them into Rick’s side, before jamming his hands back in his pockets. Balls them into fists to keep the warmth at the core of his hands. 

“But then _your_ hands will be cold,” says Rick, blinking against the too-white brightness of the snow.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Daryl grouses. “Just put ‘em on. Don’t wanna listen to you whine the whole way there.”

Rick sits up straighter in his seat, about to say _I do not whine_ with every ounce of indignance he can muster, when another idea strikes him—one that’s probably better than their current solution. 

“Maybe we can both wear one,” Rick says, holding out the left-handed glove to Daryl. “Keep one hand warm each.” He can hear the couple in front of them suddenly becoming strangely quiet, like they’re straining to hear what Rick and Daryl are saying, but he can’t bring himself to care. He can’t let this kindness take its toll on Daryl.

Daryl sighs and takes the glove back. Slips it on, grudgingly. And while his other hand’s still out, Rick reaches out for it, Daryl’s ungloved right, and brushes his bare fingers against Daryl’s, a silent request for permission. 

Daryl jerks away like he’s been burned by a hot coal, his eyes wide.

“Sorry,” Rick mumbles. “I didn’t mean—forget it.” He didn’t _think_ he’d read the situation wrong, but—

Then Daryl’s taking Rick’s hand in his, his fingers slightly cool and dry, but a hand all the same. Threads them together, and draws them into his pocket where it _is_ surprisingly warm. The motion forces Rick closer, until he’s tucked into Daryl’s side, to prevent the driver from seeing his awkwardly stretched arm. 

“Was just surprised,” Daryl grunts, as if that somehow explains the way he’d nearly leaped away from Rick. “Anyway,” he adds, “if we’re gonna do this, might as well do it right.” There’s a tiny uptilt to his lips that’s almost a grin, and at that, something in Rick’s chest hurts a little that this is only pretend, but he’ll take it. 

From in front of them, they can hear the couple giggling again; the man’s breathing, “Oh my _god_ ,” and muttering something about utter denial, while the woman whispers, “They are so unbelievably _cute_.” 

She socks the poor guy in the shoulder, with a _Why can’t_ we _be that cute?_

Rick’s not sure how he feels about being a role model of coupledom, but he supposes there are worse fates. Like being made to get off the sleigh in knee-deep snow and trudging back to the lodge in boots that aren’t meant for winter. So he keeps his mouth shut and his hand safely twined with Daryl’s, and enjoys the sleigh ride for what it is. Takes in the fresh mountain wind, and watches his breath cloud in the air, as snow falls all around them, softly, silent. Listens to the gentle rustle of their sleigh moving through the snow underfoot. The jingle of the bells on the horses’ straps. The soft whickers and whinnies of the horses as they trot along, their path along the mountain meadows painted silver with blooms of frost.

Just lets himself enjoy the winter dreamscape, as he leans into Daryl’s side, warm. The only thing that could make this ride any better would be a heated blanket, one they could spread over their laps, to keep the chill away from their knees and legs. But Daryl’s hip is pressed right up against his, and it’s warm enough, so Rick supposes he can’t complain.

The peace of their sleigh ride’s only broken about halfway through, when Rick notices their driver looking behind him, staring at them.

“Daryl,” Rick says, squeezing his hand, urgent. “The driver’s looking this way.”

Daryl’s response isn’t much more than a grunt, though when Rick jiggles their joined hands, panicked, he says, “He’s _supposed_ to look out for his customers.” His hand tightens around Rick’s, nervous all the same, but Rick wouldn’t know it just from looking at him.

“No, really,” says Rick, “he’s doing the thing with his eyes. He’s _squinting_ at us again, like he doesn’t believe we’re a couple.”

The driver clears his throat. “You boys back there…”

“Shit,” Rick whispers, “he’s gonna kick us off. He’s gonna kick us off here, and we’re gonna have to walk all the way back to—”

Daryl throws him a look like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, and squeezes his hand, a silent order of _Shush_. 

“I’m gonna have to ask the two of you…” the driver continues, rubbing at his moustache, like there’s something awkward he needs to say.

“Daryl,” Rick squeaks, “ _do something_.”

Daryl sighs and reaches over to cup Rick’s cheek with his free hand. Draws him forward for a kiss that’s warm and slow and tastes a little of mint and chocolate, his lips just the right amount of soft. And Rick finds himself leaning in, trying to lick into his mouth for more of that sweetness, when Daryl pulls away, sudden. 

“ _Yeah_ ,” he grunts at the driver, like he’s annoyed at being interrupted. “What.”

“Was gonna ask you if you boys were warm enough back there,” says the driver, clearing his throat again. “Since you’re the farthest from the horses, and the snow can pile up back there sometimes. But I guess that ain’t really a problem.”

There’s a titter of laughter from the rest of the riders, and _another_ , as Rick blushes and says breathlessly, “Nope, plenty warm enough already.” It leaves Rick wishing he could duck under Daryl’s coat and hide from embarrassment.

The rest of the ride goes as smoothly as the first half, even if Rick can’t find it in himself to meet Daryl’s eyes more than a few times as they talk, because every time he does, all he can think of is Daryl’s mouth, and the taste of sweet mint, and that _kiss_.

Daryl, for his part, keeps Rick’s hand in his, and it’s only when the sleigh ride’s over that Daryl finally draws his hand away, slowly, like he’s just as reluctant to let go as Rick is. Helps him down from the sleigh, even when the driver’s not watching, and keeps his arm around Rick’s waist during the fireside warmup stop at the end, where they’re given marshmallows to toast and another round of chalky hot chocolates to drink.

In fact, Daryl keeps up the charade right up until the parking lot, when it’s clear it’s time for them to part ways. 

“How’d you get here, anyway?” Rick asks. The other riders are all scattering in different directions across the parking lot, but Daryl’s starting to tramp his way back to the lodge. 

“Had a cab lined up this mornin’,” Daryl says. “Didn’t wanna take my brother on his bike. The road ain’t been too good since the last snow.”

Rick glances at the snow that’s starting to come down a little harder, feels the wind that’s started to pick up. It won’t be too long before the snow piles up and the cab won’t even be able to make it here. “Listen,” he says, “why don’t I give you a ride back into town?” He charges ahead when Daryl opens his mouth to protest. “It’s only half an hour out, and you won’t have to wait for a cab to make it up here. _If_ it can make it up here.”

It’s the _if_ that seals the deal, Rick thinks, and a tiny blossom of warmth unfurls in his chest when Daryl nods, hesitant.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll spot you for the gas,” Daryl offers. “Least I can do.”

Rick shakes his head. “Don’t need any gas money,” he laughs. “Though, maybe when we get back…”

“Yeah?” Daryl asks, and Rick wonders if he’s holding his breath, because it’s like everything’s gone quiet around them, just the whisper of wind in the parking lot curling away errant drifts of snow. Soft, white flakes falling gently, soundless, all around them.

“I was wondering,” Rick starts, “if maybe you’d like to—” He clears his throat. “Like to grab a real hot chocolate or something. Not that powder shit back at the lodge.” He leaves out the _with me_ , just in case. Because the last thing Rick is, is a man desperate for company. Yes.

For a moment, he’s afraid he’ll get a _Sorry, ain’t much for talkin’ to strangers_ , or a _Pretendin’s done, we don’t gotta keep this up_ thrown in his face. Or even a flippant _What, like a_ real _date?_

But then Daryl’s offering him that small, secret smile again, like the sun peeking shyly through low-lying storm clouds, the kind that makes Rick’s heart skip a beat. “Sounds all right to me,” he says. 

Before Rick knows it, they’re on their way, with easy conversations about anything and everything, and comfortable silences when they need a moment to themselves. And as he navigates his way across snow-covered highways, Rick can’t help but sneak the occasional glance at Daryl. Notice the way he smiles sometimes without quite being aware of it, before hiding it away, like he’s got no right to be happy.

Rick wishes Daryl didn’t have to do that. 

He wishes he didn’t have to pretend that this thing between him and Daryl is less than it really is, either.

And since it’s Christmas season, the best time for wishes, Rick throws in an extra one for good measure—the wild hope that the second part of their day will go just as smoothly as the first.

Of course, Rick really should’ve _known_ better, than to count on Christmas wishes.


	2. Making Spirits Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since it’s Christmas season, the best time for wishes, Rick throws in one for good measure—the wild hope that the second part of their day will go just as smoothly as the first.
> 
> Of course, Rick should’ve _known_ better than to count on Christmas wishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleigh Ride AU. Written for the Rickyl Writers’ Group December 2015 Challenge: Winter Romance. Inspired by this picture of sleigh rides [here](http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y283/slamduncan21/stuff%20to%20ul%20to%20sites/Sleigh-Rides-3.jpg~original).

~

By the time they arrive back in Atlanta, more than half an hour’s gone by, but Rick’s barely noticed, the time having flown by just like that. And it’s another ten minutes before he slows to a stop in front of one of his favourite coffee shops, near the new station he works at.

“There,” Rick says, pointing. “That’s the one.” They’ll have to circle around for parking, of course, but that’s a curse associated with any popular eatery or café.

Daryl snorts. “Man, cops and their coffee shops,” he says, reaching over and patting Rick’s belly. “You got a secret spare tire I don’t know about? Where you guys _put_ all them donuts?”

“Stop. _Stop_ ,” Rick says, laughing as he swats Daryl’s arm off. “I’d hate to be written up by a colleague for hittin’ a car, just ‘cause I couldn’t keep my _eyes_ on the damn road.”

“Why, there somethin’ else that’s got your attention, officer?” Daryl asks, innocent. But that’s a smirk on his face, that small tug of lips, and Rick knows it. So he bites back the _maybe_ that’s threatening to spill out, just huffs his angriest when Daryl reaches over and strokes a hand over Rick’s belly again, teasing this time.

They find a parking spot a block down, just across from a seedy video store, and make their way back to the coffee shop.

Daryl peers at the name as they head up the stairs, reading it out loud. “ _Cozy Cuppies_?” he says, wrinkling his nose. “The hell is this, a daycare?”

“Yeah,” says Rick, smiling as he plays along. “They make a mean cup of hot chocolate and the best shortbread for miles around too. All between changing diapers and organizing playtime.” It’s enough to earn him a tiny huff of a laugh from Daryl, which is pleasure enough for Rick.

The warmth of the shop is lovely, considering the chill that’s dogged them since the sleigh ride, and Rick warms his hands beneath the heating vent as they come in. Which is when he realizes he’s been wearing Daryl’s right glove _all this time_. He doesn’t have long to dwell on the thought, though, when Daryl tugs him into the lineup, amid all the other customers jostling their way in through the door.

They suffer through countless orders ahead of them, of complicated-sounding coffees with adjectives like _half-sweet, non-fat, extra-whip, sugar-free_ and _no-foam_ , and names like _machiattos, espressinos_ , a billion things _au lait_ , and last, but not least, _butterbeer lattes_ , that a group of kids in front of them order. 

Daryl gets as far as _who the fuck puts butter and beer in a coffee and sells it to_ kids—before Rick presses a finger to Daryl’s lips, surprising him into silence with a light peck of a kiss to the mouth.

“Shh,” he mumbles, hoping they won’t get kicked out. It’s a moment later that he realizes he’d just been hoping for a repeat of Daryl’s kiss in the sleigh. And the fact that Rick’s wanted this, had just gone in for the kill when it didn’t happen, surprises him just as much.

By the time they’ve made it to the front of the line, Daryl nods a dazed _I’ve got this_ at Rick, slipping fingers into his coat. “Least I can do,” he says aloud, motioning out at the car, for the ride Rick gave him into town. 

“You two are together, right?” the girl at the counter asks brightly. She’s got the customary pinstriped apron on, and a sunbeam name tag that says _Tara_ , even if Rick thought it would’ve said _Sunny_ , to match her cheerful disposition.

Daryl just blinks at her, midway through taking out his wallet. “Yeah. I mean, uh.” He looks at Rick, and blinks again, maybe a little too rapidly.

Rick’s not sure if it’s Daryl’s way of asking permission to fib about what they are, or if he’s blinking out _help me_ in Morse code, so Rick just says, “Yeah.” She’d probably seen their little exchange of Rick shushing him with a kiss just before serving them, anyway.

Tara must sense the tension in their answers, because she backtracks instantly. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to—I’m only asking because we’ve got our Sweetheart Special on this weekend! See?” She points at the blackboard behind her, where there’s a chalk-scrawled drawing of a cup, with steam in the shape of a heart rising out of it. A banner beneath it, saying, _Two drinks, for the price of one!_

By now it’s gotten much easier to pretend, so to give Daryl’s wallet a break, Rick just curls a hand into the crook of Daryl’s elbow. “Yeah,” he says softly. “We are.” Loves the way Daryl leans into his touch, like it’s completely natural for them.

They leave the counter with matching mugs of steaming hot chocolate, with a giant marshmallow in each, and Tara even slips them two of _Cozy’s_ famous spiced almond shortbreads on a plate when no one’s looking, just beaming at them as they walk away. 

Then she gives the older lady behind Rick and Daryl the Sweetheart Special anyway, even if, from the looks of the things, the lady’s sweetheart might’ve passed on for a few years. So maybe they didn’t _have_ to pretend, just to get the special, but that’s a moot point by now. 

“Why’s it gotta be so big?” Daryl asks as they take a seat, poking his marshmallow with a finger. Submerging it in the steaming hot liquid, and watching it resurface with a vengeance. “Most places just toss a thing of whipped cream in.”

“Whipped cream takes away from the taste,” says Rick, trying to hide a grin behind his cup, but utterly failing to. “And the marshmallow’s big so it can melt slower.”

Daryl’s too…Rick isn’t sure the word is _adorable_ , but then he figures _what the hell, why not_ ; Daryl’s entirely too adorable like this, jabbing at the marshmallow like one of these days it’ll give up the good fight and not float back up.

Rick stirs leisurely at his own drink, watching the marshmallow bob along. Spots the little toothpick embedded in the marshmallow, with a line of string glued to it to simulate a teabag, swirling along with it. On the tiny paper attached, their barista’s written ‘Rick ♥’ on Rick’s, and ‘♥ Daryl’, on Daryl’s toothpick paper, to tell the difference between their drinks, even if it’s the same damn drink. 

The shop certainly didn’t skimp on details.

He tries not to think too hard of what it’d say if the hearts on their papers overlapped. Takes a vicious bite out of his shortbread, instead, revelling in the taste of it, the right amount of vanilla warmth and buttered goodness that melts in his mouth.

“I never had nothin’ like this before,” Daryl admits, finishing off his shortbread in two bites and chasing the crumbs around his plate with a finger. There’s a tiny, grateful smile that he can’t hide, and Rick’s own smile just widens in return. It’s got some part of him thinking that he’d like to take Daryl to all the coffeehouses and cafés he knows in town, just to see this expression for the rest of his life.

 _Life?_ Rick thinks, catching himself. _Year, maybe. Month. You’ve just gotten to know him._

Then he remembers they’re not even dating, not really, and the thought of it makes a lump of lead form in his stomach, cold.

He looks up to find Daryl licking his fingers, sucking away each crumb and scooping up the froth of hot chocolate along the rim, like he’s wholly enjoying these simple pleasures. Rick finds it all kinds of endearing, and the lump of lead melts away, replaced by a spark of affectionate warmth, though Daryl stops when he notices Rick staring at him. 

“Right,” he says, snapping a sharp nod, hiding his hands beneath the table. “I’ll stop.” He looks at the other tables full of people surrounding them. “Polite company and all.”

“No,” says Rick. “ _No_. I just…I’m real glad you’re enjoyin’ yourself.” He beams at Daryl, hoping he can convey the message that it’s _all right_ for Daryl to be himself around Rick. That he doesn’t need to hide for fear of embarrassing himself.

They talk and sip at their drinks for the rest of the time, just slowly savouring the taste of cocoa blended with steamed milk. The flavourful warmth of the pumpkin spiced cookies Rick buys them, when they’ve run out of snacks as accompaniment. And in Rick’s case, Daryl’s company, their conversations down-to-earth about life and work, and everything else in between.

If Rick’s fingers brush against Daryl’s when he’s making a point too emphatically with his hands, or Daryl’s against his, neither of them seem to mind. 

It’s late evening by the time the shop’s about ready to close, and they make their exit early, with a nod and a smile to all their baristas for the lovely drinks and food. 

“Hey,” Rick says, as they’re making their way to his car, not sure how to start. He’s trying to find a way to extend what they’ve got here into more, but maybe it’s not fair for him to keep demanding more of Daryl’s time. And Daryl _had_ mentioned earlier that he’d wanted to check up on his brother, Merle, too.

 _You know, to see if he’s still alive and all_ , Daryl said. 

That was another thing Rick appreciated about him; the fact that he said what he meant and didn’t try to sugarcoat a damn thing. 

But even if he offers Daryl a lift home, he can still sense their day coming to a close, and all of a sudden, it feels like it’s too soon, because, god, they haven’t traded phone numbers, or last names, or all the things people do when they’re out on a da—an _outing_ like this, Rick corrects himself.

“Hey,” Daryl replies, his voice oddly soft. He gets as far as _I, um_ , before the conversation stalls completely. Clears his throat. “Need my glove back, before I head out, I guess.”

Rick looks down at the glove he’s been wearing all day without thinking, taking it off only when they were indoors, and suddenly, something about removing it for good, to give it back, makes something tighten in his chest. An anxious feeling he can’t explain. 

“I—” he manages, before another giggling couple nearly collides with them on the street. Rick curses his luck, because they’re like a locust plague, just swarming _everywhere_ this Christmas season.

“Rick?” says a voice, surprised. And Rick would know that voice anywhere, had grown up listening to it for _years_. “Hey man, what’re you doing out here?”

Rick blinks, equally stunned. Because in addition to his friend Shane, the other giggling half of the couple is _Lori_ , who doesn’t look sick in the least.

So Rick’s number wasn’t the only one she’d collected at the reunion, when she’d been making her rounds as the night’s social butterfly. That’s starting to become pretty clear now.

“Just out for a drink,” Rick says, mustering the most honest smile he can manage, even if smiling’s the last thing he feels like doing. He nods at Lori. “Thought you were sick. You know, when you texted me this mornin’. Glad you’re feelin’ better now, though.”

He throws Shane a look, one that says _we’re gonna talk about this later_ , because Shane had been there when Rick asked Lori out, and this— _this_ flies in the face of everything Rick thought their friendship was. 

Shane raises a brow at Daryl, and tosses a haughty look back in Rick’s direction: _Yes, we are._

“I, uh,” Lori tries, and Rick’s ready to give her the benefit of the doubt, to hear her _I was just out getting chicken soup_ or _I couldn’t reach you when I felt better_ , but all he sees when he looks in her eyes is guilt, at being caught in her lie. “Turns out it was just a morning cold,” she finishes weakly. “But who’s _this_?” It’s a poor attempt at redirecting attention from herself, but it works, and suddenly everyone’s staring at Daryl.

Rick sees both Lori and Shane give Daryl a look of disdain, like they’d never be caught dead being seen with him, and he takes a step in front of Daryl. Angles his body, like Rick can protect him from them somehow. “This is,” he starts, before pausing to think. There must be a way to say _This is Daryl, and I met him during the sleigh ride I was gonna take you on. You know, before you decided to date my best friend instead._

Except whatever that way is, he’s not finding it, and he stands there like an idiot, for one second, two, before Daryl takes a step up and slides an arm around Rick’s waist, easy. Like he’s done this for years, and not just the span of an afternoon.

“I’m his date,” Daryl says casually, like it’s no earth-shattering news. He strokes fingers along the dip of Rick’s waist, which is distracting enough in itself, then closes his grip around Rick’s hip, possessive. “And it’s been nice meetin’ you, but we’re kinda in a hurry to get to our movie.” He turns to Rick, saying, “C’mon, you said it started in five minutes!” before tugging Rick along down the street.

“What are you _doing_ ,” Rick hisses, when they’ve made it around the corner, safely out of sight. 

Daryl spreads his hands, incredulous. “Gettin’ you out of an awkward situation?” he guesses. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I could’ve handled that,” Rick says, rolling his eyes. He would’ve too, if Daryl hadn’t been so _adamant_ about making it look like they were together, like _Rick_ hadn’t been the one carelessly tossed aside—

Oh. _Oh_.

“Sure,” says Daryl. If you call stutterin’ and mutterin’ ‘handlin’ things’ when you find the sweet thing that stood you up’s gallivantin’ around town with someone _else_.”

It’s the most he’s heard Daryl say in one breath, but Rick can’t help but admit he’s got a point. 

Rick knows he should say _thank you_ , for a multitude of things. Like _thanks for not minding our act for the sleigh ride_ , _thanks for joining me for a hot chocolate at Cozy’s_ , and most of all, _thanks for making sure I didn’t look like a fool in front of people I knew_ , but his mouth stays gummed up, like the words are molasses that just can’t seem to filter through. 

Instead, he rakes a hand through his hair, a gesture born of exasperation. Frustration. “What should we do now?” Rick asks. 

Maybe he could go back there, to explain to Lori that he hadn’t—that Daryl wasn’t really—oh, but _Rick_ was. And he very much still _is_. 

Is, being followed by _fascinated, intrigued_ , or _charmed_. 

_Captivated_ , even. By Daryl. 

And wasn’t _that_ the kicker.

Daryl lets out a long, measured breath. “Look, Rick,” he says slowly, “maybe she ain’t interested. But I _am_.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment. Keeps his gaze steady on Rick, daring him to say something in return, or to run. And when Rick doesn’t bolt in the opposite direction—just takes in Daryl’s wind-tousled hair and eyes bluer than the peacock-bright ornaments his mother owns, thinking _yeah, there’s something here all right_ —Daryl hazards a tiny grin. “So maybe we oughta catch a movie, like we said we would.”

Rick takes a moment to think things through, even if his heart’s leaped ahead, dancing a jig of elation in his chest. “Maybe,” he says carefully, before agreeing to anything, “we oughta call a spade a spade. I know we didn’t start the day this way, but we…we can call this what it _is_ now, can’t we?”

“This?” Daryl asks, furrowing his brow. He takes a step closer, as if he’s straining to hear, though Rick knows they can hear each other perfectly fine.

“This,” Rick echoes, taking a step toward Daryl, and reaching out for Daryl’s hand. Covering Daryl’s fingers with his, careful to watch his reaction. “We can call _this_ …a date. Right?”

Daryl lets out another breath, like it’s one he’s been holding for a _while_. Turns his palm up to meet Rick’s, and winds their fingers together, for a warmth that spreads like wildfire to every part of Rick’s soul. “Finally,” he says, huffing out what’s got to be a laugh. “Was gettin’ real tired of that ‘pretend’ bullshit.”

And Rick realizes that maybe they’ve _been_ on a date ever since he joined Daryl on the back of that sleigh, and he’s the only one clueing into it now. “Finally,” he nods, laughing, because they’ve done everything ass backwards, but maybe that’s what it took, for Rick to _see_. 

A _this is how it could be_ , that’d knocked down the walls Rick had built around his heart.

Rick tugs Daryl’s hand into his pocket, where it’s safe and snug for the heat they’re both sharing, and from Daryl’s answering smile, he knows there’s a chance for a _real_ kiss, somewhere down the line. 

A good night one. 

A good morning one.

Or even an _I’m happy I’m with you_. 

But for now, as they make their way down the street, snow drifting down all around them, the discovery that this entire day’s been _just_ what Rick hoped it was, is happiness enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...that's a wrap for this fic. :) Best of holiday wishes to everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [eyeus](http://eyeus.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, if you want to chat about headcanons or send prompts my way!


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